They were standing at the foot of the picture, a full-length, which overbore them as much in reality as imagination, and made the woman and the girl look like pigmies at his feet. Carry gave a slight shiver in spite of herself. ‘Yes,’ she said faintly; ‘and, my dear--so are you too.’ Janet met her mother’s look with a stolid steadiness. She saw, half sorry, half pleased, Lady Car’s eyes turn from the picture to her own face and back again. She had very little understanding of her mother, but a great deal of curiosity. She thought to herself that most mothers were pleased with such a resemblance--so at least Janet had read in books. She supposed her own mother did not care for it--perhaps disliked it because she had married again. ‘You never told us anything about father,’ she said, ‘but Nurse does a great deal. She told me how he--was killed. Was that the horse?’ ‘Yes,’ said Lady Car, with a trembling which she could not conceal. ‘Is it because you are sorry that you are so nervous?’ said Janet, with those dull, light eyes fixed upon her, which were Torrance’s eyes. ‘Janet!’ cried her mother, ‘do not ask me about it.’ She said, in a low, hurried voice, ‘Is it not enough that it was the most terrible thing that ever happened? I cannot go back upon it.’ ‘But afterwards,’ said the girl, impelled by she knew not what--some influence of vague exasperation, which was half opposition to her mother, and half disappointment to find the dead father, the tutelary divinity of this house to which she had been eager to come, so different from her expectations--‘afterwards--you married Beau.’ ‘Janet!’ Lady Car cried again, but this time the shock brought back her dignity and self-control. ‘I don’t know what has got possession of you, my dear, to-day. You forget yourself--and me. You are not the judge of my actions, nor will I justify myself before you.’ She added, after a time, ‘Both Tom and you are very like your father. After a while he will be master here, and you perhaps mistress till he marries. Your father--might have been living now’ (poor Carry grew pale and shuddered even while she pointed her moral)--‘if he had not been such a hard rider, so--so careless, thinking he could go anywhere. Do you wonder that I am anxious about Tom? You will have to learn to do what you can to restrain him, to keep him from those wild rides, to keep him----’ Lady Car’s voice faltered, the tears came to her eyes. ‘I believe it is common,’ she said, ‘that a young man, such as he is growing to be, should not mind his mother much. Sometimes, people tell me, they mind their sisters more.’ ‘Tom does not mind me a bit,’ said Janet, ‘oh, not a bit--and he will never marry. He does not like girls.’ ‘Perhaps he will change his mind,’ said Carry, with a faint smile. ‘Boys often do. Will you remember what I have said, dear, if you should ever be mistress here?’ ‘But how can I be mistress? Where will you be? Why should there be any change?’